Black Fire, Blue Ice
by Gilgaer
Summary: The war is over. The world is a mess. Evil has been defeated...right? Draco and Ginny are caught in a battle of relations, Cornelius Fudge is still a stupid git, only more so, and the Ministry is collapsing. Will they survive or be lost forever? D,G...R,H
1. A Series of Arrangements

NOTE: This is NOT, I repeat **_NOT_** a sequel. It is in no way related to my other fan fic, Memories of Clouds (earlier titled "Pharaoh Dreams".) They-Ron, Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Draco, etc- are out of school, newly graduated. Dumbledore is dead, as is Sirius, and Voldemort is vanquished. I'm not going to tell you anymore than that, so read it to find out:)

Gilgaer

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Draco Malfoy wandered the halls of the house dejectedly. He didn't like it in the House of Blacks. It was slightly creepy, in an old-fashioned barbaric way. He would like to know who would hang the heads of deceased house-elves on their walls. It was just…frightening.

He let out a sigh. For all the great gods in the world, he had no reason to feel so utterly dejected and lost. Hell, he was 18, nearly 19, and someone of that age, and caliber shouldn't be wandering the halls of dusty old house like a little kid trying to find a teddy bear to play with, and failing in his search.Of course, that was just where he was, and the last place he wanted to be. Candles flickered in bronze candlestick holders, illuminating the house-elf heads with ghostly shadows. Draco sunk once more into thinking. His face, usually holding a sneer, was eerily vacant of all expression. The silence didn't help his mood, either. He hadn't heard from his mother in days. Not that he should be worried. His father wouldn't do anything to her; he was a social outcast now hunted down to be humiliated. The Malfoy family, extending beyond him, was still well off (what Malfoy _hadn't _been well off?) and nearly honored in the wizarding world.

He let out a sigh. Ever since Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort, he felt as though his life wasn't meaningful. He had no bad guy to piss off, his father wasn't bugging him and life felt almost…normal. His life had never been normal, and it was beginning to scare him.

Foot steps sounded behind him; high heels clicking against the old creaky floors. He turned to see Ginevra Weasley, his girlfriend, walking toward him. She was dressed in a long, tight-fitting black dress that shimmered as she walked. Perfectly shaped legs slipped into four-inch, diamond-laced heels. Crimson waves cascaded down her back, glistening slightly in the candlelight. She was beautiful. How the bloody hell anyone could look so good in a black dress outdistanced his thinking by a mile.

Ginevra frowned as she approached.

"Draco, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, my Weaselette, nothing."

Her eyebrows knotted. "I don't believe you, and you know it. Tell me now or I will leave this house and never come back. Seriously."

His eyes widened in mock fear. "Oh, Ginevra, don't leave me!" he cried, running to her. He reached her, hands straddled her waist; kisses were placed delicately along her jaw bone.

"Stop it," she said half heartedly. Then his lips traveled to hers, and she was sucked into the mind-numbing pleasure of kissing a Malfoy. Especially Draco Malfoy.

Several extremely long minutes later, they had broken apart, and Draco was contentedly stroking her hair as they sat, side by side, at a long onyx table. They had moved from the old hallway in the Black House to the Parlor Room, or what was left of it, anyway. Black curtains hung down from every wall, gnawed by doxies and other sorts of infestations little disgusting creatures. Nervously Draco straightened his tie. Why the bloody hell had he agreed to do this? Now, sitting here, in the thread-bare chair covered in what appeared to be blood stains, he was beginning to regret his decision. While being here with Ginny was just great (actually, better than great, it was fantastic) he did not completely know the reason for his coming here. She had insisted, though, on his presence, and had filled in some slight details. including the fact that they were meeting someone very important to discuss their...decision.

"Draco, stop it," Ginny said, noticing his fidgeting and bringing an end to it.

Sulking, he sunk is his chair. "Yes, Ginny dearest."

"Now, Draco don't you dare start--" their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. Draco straightened up, face serious, his eyes filled with a slight fear. He didn't like not knowing what was coming. Ginerva cleared her throat, once, twice. The knock came again, more insistent, urgent.

"Come in!" She said sharply. The door opened. A shadow filled the door, along and slender, flickering with the candle light.

"Well?" Ginny asked. "Are you entering, or not, because if you're not, I'll have the house-elf escort you out, so you can be on your way." The shape laughed, a woman's laugh, delicate and high. Draco looked alert. He knew that laugh but it couldn't be…

"Why, hello, Draco, honey. I didn't know you were going to be here."

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Cornelius Fudge looked around his office. After the Death Eater attack last month, nothing was the same. Of course, that had all changed after Voldemort had been vanquished by Harry Potter. That had been a close call, though. He sighed. Poor Potter. First he had saved the world, and then he had had to do it again. Too bad history didn't repeat itself, because if it did Harry currently wouldn't be locked up in St. Mungos lying comatose, as he had been for the past month. Nothing would revive him, and the hysterical Mrs. Weasley and Hermione Granger had had to be drug away from the bed side on more than one occasion as the boy had started screaming in his sleep.

Ah, well, such things happened. Back to his beloved office. The damn thing was torn to pieces, papers everywhere, pottery smashed, and the Ministry, while trying to patch itself back together, had rebelled against his pleadings for a whole new office. To his dismay, he learned that there were none available. So he had slunk back to his office after petitioning for the fifth time, remorsely deciding to try cleaning things up a bit. That may take a while though, because first he had some other things to think about. Like the man pounding on his door, yelling his lungs out. Now that just wouldn't do.

Fudge straightened up. "Come in!" He shouted, in an effort to be heard over the racket. The man banged open the door. Fudges' face drooped. Just the man he wanted to see. Not.

"Mr. Cronsby. Hello. Please, do come in. You must pardon the arrangements right now. It's a little… messy, after the, er, accident."

Mr. Cronsby was a stout man, short and fat, with a large gray moustache and balding head. Dick Cronsby was the president of Internal Affairs, and, as usual, he was not happy with the Minister, for any reasons.

"Accident? Humph, I'll show you an accident: you getting elected in the first place! Ever since you were appointed as Minister, the Ministry's gone round the bend. First you make such a big display over the attack at the World Cup four years ago, and you do Nothing! Then Harry Potter, who has never lied to us, says that He's back, and you just brush him off and make jokes about him in his face! _Then_ He-who-must-not-be-named breaks into the ministry and you say it never happened! Finally you decide to agree with Harry _after_ he saves your ass! NOW the poor boy is lying comatose in St. Mungos and _you_ could have kept him alive and well with us!" Mr. Cronsby took a breath to continue when Fudge interrupted. He was quiet sick of the man yelling at him.It happened a bit too often, and he should have sacked him months ago. But he couldn't, becaue Dick Cronsby was just too damn important right now.

"Mr. Cronsby, do you have anything beneficial to say?" The man didn't falter.

"Yes, I do." Fudge was slightly surprised. All this man had ever done was yell at him.

"Well, what is it?"

"Why don't you do something useful for once and round up all the Death Eaters? Get them out of our hair, keep them from revolting. It's the least you could do for the society that you've ruined. Make a statement before they kick you to mars and leave you for the wolves."

Fudge brightened, if only a little. But Mr. Cronsby was not done.

"I speak for everyone here when I propose that you gain back the acceptance of the giants. Have you seen the news? Giants, roaming through London! It's a catastrophe! And you're going to need to tell the public exactly what happened here. It's not going to stay hidden for long, and it's better if it comes out of your mouth than others. Details will be needed."

Fudge sneered. "Read the story. It was just released into the news, but you _obviously_ haven't read it." He threw a copy of the Daily Prophet at him, which he caught nimbly.

**CATASTROPHE IN THE MINISTRY**

By Marshal Harris. Written July 3, 2007

"Last month, on the 25th of June, the ministry was caught, quiet unexpectedly, in crossfire between Death Eater troops and a band of students from Hogwarts known as Dumbledore's Army. The Death Eaters somehow—it is believed that He-who-must-not-be-named was involved--broke through the security walls with advanced black magic. They came with Dementors, and all quailed. The D.A., as they called themselves, managed to defeat many of the Death Eaters. All would have perished if the legendary Order of the Pheoniz hadn't arrived on scene.

"The battle was bloody. Conjured swords were hissing through the air, and curses were flying; bright bolts of energy causing disaster in their wake. The famed Harry Potter saved Luna Lovegood, blocking the Killing Curse aimed at her. Then he whirled on He-who-must-not-be-named, who tried to kill him, again. Then, without speaking—where did he learn that?—A curse hit He-who-must-not-be-named. But he wasn't dead. Curses flew, time stopped, a ring formed around the two fighters.

"A net of red hung suspended in midair as the two levitated, swirling in a mass of green. Death Eaters were chanting, and the fighting around them had stopped. Everyone watched. Then, the orb blew up, the fire that exploded out of it in such a force that it killed all who were not shielded—sadly, that included several fine young students. All the dementors were wiped away into mists that hung about the demolished room for days after. Out of the orb there stepped a figure. He was walking on air. All else was charred bones. Those who were there don't know what happened in that orb, but something mighty powerful did, for it to blow like that. Then Harry crumpled to the floor, and he has been unconscious since. Later the bones of he-who-must-not-be-named were found, charred to a blood-red dust, except for the heart, a shriveled thing that had by then decayed, ripped asunder from his chest. The boy was covered in blood when he fell from the sky. This is a continuing story. Please check back later. There will be a memorial mass for the deceased students on Saturday, July 4th."

Mr. Cronsby sighed and placed the newspaper back on the demolished desk. "And that is that."

"Well," Frudge urged him. "What was it you were going to say before you implored me for the story?"

"I was going to say that teams will be needed to clean up the surrounding area. Have fun with that. Thank the gods that no muggles were around to witness this, or else terribly frightening, sadly true stories would be circulating the globe for months.

"Another topic is Azkaban. There are, as you tell me, no more dementors left. You are wrong. Several dementors, left to guard Azkaban, were left behind. You _must _at all do cost return them to your service! Damn, man, but you haven't done a single thing to make any of them like you! And that will only lead to strife in the end. Bring them around—I know you can do it. Just don't wet yourself. They won't be amused."

"You bring me great hope," Fudge said sarcastically. "Do you really expect me to listen to you? I am the Minister, not you. You have yelled at my for the past four years. So you really think I will suddenly start listening to you? No. I do not need your help." All earlier, kind demeanor had left his face, and he was now cold. Mr. Cronsby looked slightly amused by his sudden turn around.

"Mr. Fudge, I beg you: listen to me! This world's a mess! What are you going to do about it? Put a healing-spell on its bruises and say nothing happened?"

Fudge stood up and motioned to the door. "You may leave, now, Mr. Cronsby. I am utterly sick of you telling me what to do. I do not take orders. I give them. Now I am telling you to _get the hell out of my office."_ He said venomously. Mr. Cronsby stood up, and without another word, left the Ministry. If the man wasn't going to listen, he would have no more to do with him.


	2. So Let It Be

Here's the second chappie. You don't know how much I edited it, but I personally think it still needs some work. Why don't you tell me what you think, eh?

DISCLAIMER: (Scratching nails on blackboard) I don't own it! I don't own it! Why can't I own it?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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So Let It Be

The forest was dark. Black-blue shadows melded with gray and brown trees. Owls hooted long lost notes. In the deepness of the forest orange eyes, hungry and glistening with lust, stared out at the most peculiar sight in front of them, drawing them forward.

The wolves headed toward a small sheltered clearing edged with inky shadows and haunted trees. All was dark around the clearing, but the clearing was not. A pomegranate tree, small and still, had thrust itself up from the earth. From it emanated a clear yellow light. The fruit on the trees glistened with it; a blood-red pink tinged with an unholy-gold. The tree's branches were steeped with the light, and the leaves, the shining color of holly leaves, soaked it up. It was not the odd occurrence of a pomegranate tree growing in the heart of the forest, nor the light coming from the tree, but in fact the man who kneeled in front of it, that caught the wolves' attention. His hair was lank and unwashed, his clothes, a black cloak and once-clean pants, were tatters. He was not emaciated, just stank of poor health and living the life of a homeless, fleeing from his family and home.

"Curse it," he said in a voice scratchy from miss use. "Blast it all. What is the pomegranate for? I was told to seek it, but why? How does it work? If only my Master was here! But he is gone now, just dust and charred bones, charred bones…." Bright eyes shone from beneath the cloak. "And curse these wolves. They make my blood boil. They are there, just waiting, just waiting…." Finally he stood. Anger was etched in his brow, selfishness and greed. He was lost in thought. No sigh escaped his lips, no curse to oblivion. His power had slowly drained as the months went on. It was weakening him, weakening his magic.

As if coming to a conclusion, the man put his hand forward and rested it on one of the pomegranates. Nothing happened, so he continued. Plucking the fruit from its laden branch, he peeled it open and slowly ate seven of the seeds. Nothing happened. He sat down and rested against the foot of the tree. Nothing would happen while he stayed inside the light; the wolves wouldn't try to get him. Satisfied, the man closed his eyes. His face was ravaged with age, lines that were not there before crisscrossing his forehead and eyes. He was old and weary.

The ground trembled, and his eyes snapped open. He looked around. The wolves had noticed the tremble. Only the pomegranate tree was shaking, no other pines swayed. The trembles came again, harder and with more force. A miniature earthquake was happening in the small clearing. The man tumbled back and forth as the earth rocked and bucked beneath him. His grip on the tree was slipping, the light was shining brighter than ever, till he had to close his eyes or be blinded—

And then it was over. Taking a stronger grip on the tree he slowly opened his eyes. Then they widened with shock. Standing in front of him was a man. He was clothed all in black, and towered above him. His eyes were like pits, black and ever-reaching. Black hair trailed down his white back, and an evil smile had formed on his coal lips.

"Welcome, Lucius Malfoy," he said, his voice silky smooth, slipping over his lips like vanilla.

"Hades," Lucius said, awed. He bowed his head respectfully. "What have I done to deserve your presence?"

"You have eaten the fruit of the Pomegranate tree. You know the old stories, Lucius. Now you must die."

"But my Lord, I did not know…"

"Do not lie to me, Lucius." Hades voice was a quiet hiss of venom. "You are my namesake, and I know a lie when I hear one. To lie is also instant death, and I doubt the Furies will ever welcome you…or leave you bereft of punishment. Which do you choose: Death or the Punishment Ground?" He spat out.

"My Lord, I must admit. I came here on a mission, which you are well aware of, seemingly. Do not punishment for doing your servant's business." Lucius said pompously, his head held high, a glinting look in his eye. Hades just laughed softly.

"My servant? No, Lucius, you are wrong. He was never my servant, merely my pawn, and later the failed usurper. But instead I defeated him. Did you not know your Master's past?" Lucius looked at him blankly. Hades sneered. "No, I did not think so. But that is a story for another day. Simply put, years before he tried to kill Harry Potter, your Master tried to usurp me, and was damned. Only by eating pomegranate seeds from this tree could he truly be human. In semblance, when he was risen, he was human, but a small part of his remaining soul was locked within me, which I put into the pomegranates.

But also, Lucius, you know that His time is over. He has been vanquished. Why do you still hunt these pomegranate seeds? They cannot help you. They cannot raise one from the dead; he has been sent beyond Tartarus, beyond the gates of Hell. Cerberus ate his heart, and the Pool of Lethe took his memory. He is nothing now. Still you pursue it. Fool. It is folly to eat from the tree unless you are bidden to do so. It is folly to believe n a Master gone far beyond the grave. It is folly for you to even be breathing. And now, you must die."

A sword of black fire rimmed with ice appeared in his hand. He raised it up, ready for the death strike. Getting rid of this worm would be refreshing. He hadn't chopped off someone's head for a few years. His sword would need sharpening, too…he could almost smell the blood, feel Lucius' heart beat. It was weak. Lucius had always been weak. Now that would change: he would not be weak; he would be dead.

Lucius sank to his knees, to exhausted to struggle. At least he had tried. He had been free of the Dark Lord for a month, but still he could feel the presence of his defeated Master there, inside him. The last wisps of Voldemort were still in his followers, carrying on the legacy that he had instilled in them. The Dark Mark, a mutilated bit of burned flesh resembling nothing, burned with a sudden fire. The remaining power of Lord Voldemort exhausted itself as a voice emanated from his mouth that was his, yet controlled by another who did not remain in flesh.

"_To thee I commend my spirit. _

_To thee I give up my soul, and in return I gain my life. _

_Spare my blood, oh Lord, and I shall be your servant. _

_So let it be."_

Hades sword paused. The earth began to quake again, slowly rumblings as it registered Lucius's words. Hades grinned. "I see your _Master_ remembers his past as I do. Good." He sheathed his sword. "So let it be.

"But remember, Lucius, that, like your Master, I do not forget what as passed between me and the mortals. Be careful, Lucius, or I will hunt you down and feed your guts to Cerberus as you watch." Lucius got up, ready to leave the pomegranate clearing.

"Where do you think you're going?" Hades asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Lucius turned to him. "I will not forget my pledge. But that does not mean a god cannot honor it."

"But you forgot part of your pledge, Lucius. Don't you remember what you just said? You're soul is mine.

"_So you have said, and so now I must take your soul. You commended to me your spirit, and I will honor your words. So let it be."_

Like a bolt of lightening, pain hit Lucius from all sides. Nails were being driven into his chest, his torso, his head; his heart was being torn out from his mouth, but it was still beating. The pain claimed him and he lingered on the edge of unconsciousness. He fought it, and the pain came at him again. Now it felt as though his guts were being pulled from his insides, his skin as being torn in two and burned. His soul was being ripped from him so he would be a spiritless demon walking the land of the living, mutilated and defiled. It was his price to pay for speaking those words. More accurately, the Dark Lord's vengeance had spoken those words for him, and now he was paying the price.

The last thing he remembered before darkness claimed him was the realization that the Dark Lord had left him, and he was free of the Dark Lord's bondage. Let the games begin. Then Lucius slumped over, unconscious.

"_So let it be,"_ said Hades. The earth rocked gently and a pit opened beneath Hades. He disappeared down it with a gust of wind. The Earth closed with a squishy thud, and silence came again over the watching wolves and shining pomegranate tree.

The light of the tree went out. The wolves growled, their thick fur rising at the nape of their necks as they advanced into the darkened clearing, eyes shining, blood-thirsty beacons in the starless night.

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I kept up my part of the truce. Now, be nice and fulfill yours. Remember: He is watching.

Oh, and by the way, I know, Megan, that I kind of posted this before you sent it back to me, but I got impatient. I'm not always a very patient person.

Reviewers, please tell me if it works or if it sounds horrible. Thanks.

Gilgaer


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